When Grimmjow woke up to a dimly-lit room, staring up at the white ceiling of the main area of his quarters, there was a brief and almost lazy moment where he had no idea why he'd fallen asleep on the floor, no idea what had happened. It was only when he opened his mouth to scold the others for leaving him there that the moment ended, and it all came rushing back.
He'd gone after he humans, the ones Ulquiorra was too stupid to take out before they were a problem. He and his pack taking it into their own hands, because waiting was pointless and letting them go without trouble was stupid.
The pack split up when they got there, going after each of the new points of reiatsu while Grimmjow paused, deciding which one to choose; there were a lot of them, and he didn't want to butt in on the others' fights, but it was hard to guess which one of them was strongest from just this.
Then Di Roy's reiatsu had flared briefly and gone out. Just like that, like a snap of a finger - gone. He felt it in his chest, like a blow, like something that had always, always been there had been torn away painlessly and left the hole in him that much bigger.
That had done it, made the choice for him, and he was on the pair of shinigami that had killed Di Roy in an instant. Two of them, a tiny woman with dark hair and a white sword and a boy with bright orange hair, the boy from Ulquiorra's report. Who was stronger here? Probably him, definitely him, but still- he still smells reiatsu in the air from the attack that took out Di Roy, that blast of cold air he'd felt from where he was, and the woman reeks of it.
So she's first. She hits the ground easy, not even expecting it, and he's satisfied with killing the bitch that took out Di Roy - and getting his confirmation that she's not the real threat between the two shinigami. If she was, she'd have tanked the hit and gotten back up for round two. But she's bleeding out, and he turns his eyes onto the boy, the one Ulquiorra said was too weak to kill.
He feels another burst of reiatsu, bright in his chest like fire and he knows someone took down Edrad. He can't fix that, can't drop this fight now, but he'll go there next. The hole in his chest widens again, though, and he uses that anger to smack the orange-haired boy away when he strikes at him. The kid skids backwards, shocked and swearing, and Grimmjow takes another look at him.
He's not using bankai. That's noticeable immediately from what he'd seen in the report - the kid looks different in bankai, his clothes different and his sword smaller. This isn't bankai and he snarls, angry and annoyed. He doesn't want to kill the kid like this! If he's gonna fight this little bitch, the one Ulquiorra said was too weak to kill, he wants to take him down when he's at his highest level. There isn't much point in spiteing Ulquiorra and proving him wrong otherwise.
The kid does release it, but - there's something different about it, something that only becomes clear when he feels three simultaneous explosions of shinigami reiatsu, massive compared to what they were before, and like stars blinking out one after the other...Nakeem vanishes first, then Shawlong, then Yylfordt last. He's alone. All alone, and the power around him like signal flares makes him that much more furious with the weak little spark that the kid's giving off in comparison.
How fucking dare he act like this is his best? He can't even compare to the people who murdered his pack! How fucking dare he?
They exchange some blows, and he can tell he's running circles around the little fuck easily - all that bankai does it make him faster. It catches him off guard a couple times, but it can't even scratch him. He can't fucking believe this. How did this little nobody take out Yammy's arm? Why is he even playing along with this stupid charade? The reiatsu of the other shinigami dropped like stones - he could be ripping those sons of bitches apart for his pack. He's just got to suck it up and acknowledge the brat's as weak as he thought, kill him quick, and go take the others out before he's-
His thought process screeches to a halt, then, as smoke clears from where he knocked the kid into the ground and there he is in the crater, sword lit up with black reiatsu. He's too shocked to even dodge and all he can do is throw his hands over his face and try to block the hit.
It shears right through his hierro, ripping his flesh apart, and he bites his tongue near all the way through to keep from shouting in pain. Holy fuck - holy fuck, what the fuck was that? That was nothing like any of Ulquiorra's- this kid just- with power like this he could've fucking wiped the floor with Yammy, so why didn't he-
Blood's dripping into his eye and he can taste it in his mouth, and his chest feels like it's on fire - but the aching hole in his chest, the one that's gotten five chunks larger in the past hour, screams to be filled now, and he can't help but grin to match the bared teeth of his mask. This is going to be fucking great.
Something's wrong, though, the kid's reiatsu is wobbling like mad. One second it's high and the next it dips, and there's something rough around the dips, dark and familiar. The fuck is happening here? The fuck is this kid? It doesn't matter, though, now he's worth it. The fuckers who killed his pack can wait a little longer. Maybe he'll let them wait, it wouldn't be much fun if he killed them all while they were wounded. He can handle this brat first, now that he's made himself really worth fighting.
He goes for his sword now - it's only fair to go all out in return, isn't it? - when something grabs his shoulder in a vice-grip hard enough that he feels his bones grinding, and he feels reiatsu right behind him. He freezes. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit, he's busted.
Tōsen, that goddamn little bitch. That fucker. Of all people. This guy hates him, hates him personally for being everything the hardass rule-loving shinigami bastard can't stand. Of all people to come for him...no, of course it was Tōsen. Of course. Who else?
The words the man speaks cut into him. He came without permission, yeah, that's fine, he'd do it again - but his Fraccion...they're all dead. Hearing it from Tōsen, spoken aloud like he really doesn't give a fuck, scolding him like he cares about them...it makes it real. More real than the emptiness he'd felt when their reiatsu vanished, more real than the throbbing wound on his chest.
They're dead. All of them. He'd brought them here to die.
It's that knowledge, that epiphany, that makes him sheathe Pantera, not any vague threat of Aizen's, and he stares down at the orange-haired boy with cold eyes. The kid's shouting at him, demanding he come back down there and finish the fight - he likes that in the kid, he has to admit, and in any other circumstance he might have done so, but...the collar is tight around his neck, choking him, and besides, the kid wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway and he says as much. He would've run out of juice on his attacks before long, and if he'd released Pantera...it wouldn't have been a contest.
But the kid survived as long as he had, hadn't he? Had gotten him good, a wound he wasn't gonna forget for a while. He'd been a distraction, a fun one, better than expected, but - in the end he'd probably die before Grimmjow saw him again. Too bad. If not, though?
If not, he throws the kid a bone before he steps throug the Garganta. Gives him his name. Give him something to work for, right? Give the kid a reason to hunt him down, even if there's not gonna be much of a challenge. Unless the boy gets stronger. In which case...he'll be waiting.
Back in Las Noches the halls seem empty, so empty, and bigger than they used to be. Maybe it's because they're gone now, his pack is gone. He can't feel them anywhere, can't even feel residual reiatsu. They're gone and this place is so empty now and it makes him want to puke. The only people left here are the people he hates. He's alone for the first time in what feels like an eternity and it's- he wants to claw his own skin off, it makes him feels so raw and awful.
And he has to face down Aizen, now. Fuck.
He's still smug as always, vague smiles and fake kindness, and he hates it more than he hates Tōsen's open disdain. He isn't even in trouble, Aizen says, though everyone in the room knows that's bullshit. He wants Grimmjow to say 'yes, sir', 'I did it for you, sir', 'please forgive my impertinence, sir', bow and scrape like all the rest. But he won't. He fucking won't. He won't give him the pleasure.
He grits out a response, though, insincere and irritable, and Tōsen finally snaps, lashing out and demanding to kill him. He'd laugh if he weren't half-sick with undirected rage and disgust at having to act like a scolded child. Maybe it's those feelings that push him to snap back at the blind man, amused at the hypocrisy. All that talk about laws and justice and being better than animals, and here he is begging to slaughter him.
It's hypocrisy, plain and simple. In the end the shinigami are no better than him, and it's stupid that they keep acting like-
This time he does scream. His throat tears and he drops to a knee, hand scrabbling at the font of blood spurting from where his left arm used to be. It's gone, it's gone, it's gone, Tōsen cut his fucking arm off- Tōsen cut his fucking arm off and burned it to ashes right in front of him, and he's screaming his throat raw in rage and agony and he's swearing in a voice that's more animal snarl than words and he lifts his only hand to go for Tōsen's throat-
And Aizen stops him. With false admonishment, like he's scolding a little boy, and a meaningless smile, with reiatsu that feels like he's had a building dropped on him, he keeps him from ripping Tōsen's throat out. Stymied and feeling sick and dizzy and furious enough to keep screaming, he turns to storm out.
But that's not the end of it, is it? He has no time alone to lick his wounds, because he's sought out again, dragged back to the throne room - this time the other Espada are there, and he's humiliated even further even as the stump of his arm drips onto the white floor. He can barely make it out of the room, the burn on his back driving home everything that's happened to him, and the last thing he remembers is falling.
He let out a swear, raw and furious, and folded in on himself. Fingers found the stump of his arm and stopped, realizing someone had bandaged it, and he traced the white wrappings down to where they swathe his bare chest, covering the entirety of the wound the orange-haired boy gave him. They're pinkish in places, the blood leaking out, but...but it didn't seem to hurt. Not as much, anyway.
"Oh, good, you're awake," a voice said, and his head swiveled around, a strange little bubble in his chest that popped when he saw it wasn't one of his pack and remembered they're all dead. It was Aaroniero, though, so it wasn't...all bad. "I couldn't carry you any farther than that, sorry," he admitted from his spot perched on the arm of one of the chairs. "But I bandaged you up. The shinigami sure knows some useful stuff."
Grimmjow let out an almost automatic snarl, and Aaroniero winced. "S-Sorry," he said hurriedly. "I- I didn't mean to remind you of-" He sighed, sliding off the arm of the chair to sit on the floor beside him. "I can't believe this happened…" He said. "The rumor is- the rumor is that Tōsen did that to your arm…?"
"He did," Grimmjow muttered, hand coming right back up to knead the stump almost distractedly. "The fucker did it and Aizen watched."
Aaroniero's face changed, frowning deeply, and he lifted a hand only to drop it again. "That sucks," he said finally. "I...saying anything is probably pointless but- it does suck. Are you gonna be okay?"
No, Grimmjow wanted to snarl. No, he wasn't going to be fucking okay. His pack was all dead, his arm was gone, and the worst part of it all was that so was his rank. He'd lost everything, he was nothing, and that smug little fucker who replaced him was- was- he didn't even realize what he was doing until Aaroniero shouted and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from where he'd buried his fingernails into the flesh of his stump hard enough to reopen it.
"Don't- Grimmjow, don't do that!" Aaroniero yelped. "Let it heal. Please don't hurt yourself, okay? The damage is already bad enough-"
"Who the fuck cares?!" Grimmjow snapped at him, voice rougher than normal. "I'm not even a fucking Espada anymore! You're fucking higher ranked than I am! What the fuck does it matter what I do?! I might as well be fucking dead like- like the rest of them! I-"
He let out a hiss of surprise when Aaroniero interrupted him with a backhand across the face, and he couldn't even react and hit him back, he was so taken off-guard by it. The Novena was glaring at him, the green eyes of the shinigami mask he wore blazing, and Grimmjow realized that he looked a lot like the orange-haired boy. A tiny part of him wondered why, but it was quickly ignored and forgotten.
"That's bullshit," Aaroniero said bluntly. "The Sexta I know wouldn't be beaten so easily. When did you need a number to be strong, Grimmjow? You yourself said that was just another one of Azen-sama's arbitrary shinigami things he forced on us. Weren't you going to take them all down one by one anyway, 'til you were Primera? You're not the kind of person to let anything stop you."
He paused, and swallowed, almost as if he were a bit afraid of what he was about to say next. "Or did losing your Fracciones make you a coward? Did you really need a bunch of flunkies at your back to feel powerful? Don't tell me you're nothing without them, because that's a lie."
He opened his mouth again, and yelped as Grimmjow grabbed him by the throat. He squeezed a moment, before remembering that the other technically didn't have a real neck and easing his grip only slightly. "You don't have any fucking right to tell me how I feel about my pack," he hissed. "Who the fuck are you to think you know me?"
"I know people like you," Aaroniero managed, working up some more courage. "Or he did. He knew men like you, and they wouldn't let any loss make them feel like there was no way back up. There might not be any hope for me, and I'm fine where I am anyway, but you...you can claw your way back to where you were. I know you can."
Grimmjow subsided slightly at that, unsure how to respond and frustrated enough to slam a fist into the couch beside him. It connected with a solid whumpf noise, and that feeling of hitting something with little give grounded him a little better. "I will," he muttered. "You fucking know I will."
Aaroniero was right - it wasn't like him to give up so easily. He'd fucking lost, yeah. He'd lost everything. But he was alive, so- that didn't make it any less painful, any less humiliating, any less horrible but...but it meant he was alive to claw his way back up, to spit in the faces of the people who'd kicked him down this far. Luppi, Tōsen, Aizen...he'd show them all that you didn't dismiss Grimmjow Jaegerjaques and expect him to stay the fuck down.
And that boy...it was his fault, wasn't it? It was his fault. That boy who'd cut his chest open. If it weren't for him Grimmjow wouldn't have gone to Karakura with his pack, he wouldn't have- this all wouldn't have- it was his fault. His fault.
(It had to be his fault, because if it wasn't the boy's fault it was Grimmjow's own, and even entertaining the thought of that made him feel like he wanted to scream and throw up.)
It was the boy's fault and he'd kill him next time. He'd rip his throat out. Would that fix it? Would that bring his pack back, would it bring his arm back, his rank back? Maybe the last of those, but- no. no, it wouldn't. But it sure as shit would make him feel better. Make him feel like this was worth it.
"...Aaroniero," he said finally, pulling himself to his feet. He nearly tipped over, his sense of balance going wrong, but he stood and stared at the wall, not turning to the other Espada. "Get outta here."
"...You sure?" The other began. "If you don't want to be alone, I can understand tha-"
"I said get the fuck out!" Grimmjow snapped, cutting him off. Aaroniero flinched, but sighed, and gave him the most horrifically understanding look, a look that made him want to tear his false eyes out.
"Okay," Aaroniero said. "You know where to find me. I never mind company, and besides, you're the only one that visits anyway." He smiled faintly and shook his head, before walking out the door and leaving Grimmjow alone.
Alone...almost immediately he regretted kicking the Novena out, but he pushed that away quickly. His wounded pride wouldn't let him admit that, anyway. All the same, the room was empty, too empty, and too quiet, and Grimmjow wanted to scream. It felt too small all of a sudden, the walls pressing in - it was all wrong without the noise and the presence of his pack, it was- he dropped into a crouch with his hand digging into the side of his head, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting a wave of nausea and something sharp and tight in his chest that made breathing a lot harder. He retched, dry heaving, and nothing came up, and he kept trying to get air that was suddenly difficult to swallow.
He forced himself up to his feet despite his vision swimming like he had opened his eyes underwater and with fizzing static sparks on the edges, and staggered unsteadily into the bedroom. The bed looked gigantic and he felt like he was the size of Yammy's stupid dog, and he immediately turned to go back into the main area. That felt even bigger, like it was the size of Hueco Mundo itself, and the quick turn in his current state made his legs give out anyway. He dropped to the ground, scratching at the wall with his lone hand, and barely managed to get back up with the help of the doorframe.
Swearing weakly, he pushed off the wall, staggering forward to drop onto the bed and almost immediately wrapping himself up in all the blankets. He felt so fucking small, and alone - the bed had fit all five of them pretty well, and now that it was just him it was- the whole room was too big. He kept trying to force himself to breathe normally, furious at how weak he was acting, but there wasn't much he could do- just ride out the sharp awful dizziness that was making it hard to breathe and hard to think and see, hope it would stop soon, and just-
Fuck. Fuck. He was alone, he was all fucking alone now. He had no one. The presence that had been at his back for so long was gone. He felt even emptier without it and he didn't know why, and it made him feel angry and sick and- shit. Shit. His eyes stung and he squeezed them shut and hissed angrily, curling tighter.
He'd kill him, that orange-haired brat. He'd kill him for this. He'd rip his throat out and laugh, because this was his fault. This was his fucking fault and he'd make him fucking pay.